


Out of the Ashes

by FruHallbera



Series: Kylux Cantina prompts [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Injury, Implied Hux/Kylo Ren, Kylux Cantina, M/M, Prompt Fill, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Survivor Guilt, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruHallbera/pseuds/FruHallbera
Summary: From the Kylux Cantina prompt: greeting Phasma after she hauls herself like a phoenix out of the flaming wreckage.Captain Phasma survives the destruction of the Supremacy, and while in recovery has time to think.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the tumblr prompt, and this sort of forced its way out. Utterly un-beta-ed, written in my second language and after a glass or two of red wine.

Rage. White-hot, all-consuming, pure, unfiltered rage. Bypassing pain, propelling her into clawing her way up up up, inch by excruciating inch. Her entire existence narrowed into one searing, bright focus point of rage, vengeance, justice.

And underneath it all the unquenchable need for survival.

She took in the fallen soldiers, the devastation left in the wake of the traitor and his accomplice, and her fury nearly choked her. They were her troopers, her responsibility, her _family_. She remained upright for a moment through sheer willpower and rage, but eventually her limbs gave out one at the time and she collapsed slowly, like a dying star caving in on itself, her emotion a supernova around her leaving behind a black hole big enough to eat an entire galaxy.

Afterwards, all she remembered from the early days on the confines of the medbay were the mixed, revolting smells of bacta and disinfectant, muffled words spoken by unfamiliar and familiar voices (she assumed one of the voices was Hux’s), and at her very core the smoldering embers of her anger, ready to flame out into a wildfire at a moment’s notice.

And then, cold, unyielding light. Slow, painful return into the awful reality of her injuries both physical and mental – she did not want to think about the sheer amount of death at the fall of _the Supremacy_ so soon after the destruction of the Starkiller base, and she did _not_ want to think about the causes and effects of her own survival when so many had perished. And there were other feelings, too, concerning the Starkiller’s demise, buried somewhere deep inside her, surfacing only in the small hours of the night, making her curl up in her bed, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, clutching her pillow and shaking uncontrollably. She had an awful lot of vengeance and justice to exact on the universe. She would not, could not, let her fury die down, she felt that it was the only thing keeping her functional, so she clung to it almost desperately.

So it was, that when first General Hux and then the newly minted Supreme Leader came to visit her in her convalescence she regarded them both with narrowed eyes and quiet contemplation. _Something_ had happened between the two men, something huge and horrible but only detectable by the minute changes in their demeanor and words left unsaid. They had somehow suffered a loss almost as big as her, and while it might have been due to the change in the balance of power, Phasma had known them for too long to write this off with a reason as simple as this. She had heard the words they thought were said in secret, had felt the frisson between them, had witnessed the fleeting kisses given when they could not restrain themselves. She had kept it all a secret, had covered for them and in her heart had wanted them to find happiness with each other because she cared for them both in her own way. She had always considered them as parts of her family, too. Her men, her responsibility.

There had always been the certainty in her, never spoken out loud nor even hinted at in her actions, that the Leader Snoke would eventually be the downfall of the First Order. He did not care for the cause nor the people giving their lives for it, all he wanted was some twisted form of personal glory and gratification. Phasma had known for a long time that the only way for the Order to thrive was to get the two most cunning and powerful beings in its service to work together and for the same goal instead of being forced into petty squabbles and fights for scraps of attention and praise. And if the Order was victorious, so would she be. If the Order would rise, so would she, out of the ashes of her guilt and fury and loneliness, into something better and brighter and not so horribly broken. 

Fix them, and by doing so fix the floundering Order. Fix the Order, and fix _her_ , find a focus and an outlet for the rage eating away her very soul piece by piece. She had lost too much; her sacrifice had been too big for Ren and Hux to let everything to slip away in their inability to find a solution to their personal problems.

So when one day she woke up to find a unusually subdued Kylo Ren by her bedside, she quelled the fire inside her, reached out her one good hand (her trigger finger was intact, something she regarded with great joy and satisfaction), and squeezed his large fingers.

“Supreme Leader.” It was still difficult to speak but she made the effort. “Kylo. Tell me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This prompt didn't leave me alone, and, well, expanded a bit.

Even heavily sedated and grievously injured, unable to even breathe unassisted, Captain Phasma had an aura of intimidating power around her. The tall, dark man looking down at her offered a heavy contrast against the stark, bright whiteness of the room. The two doctors in the room had reduced their conversation into a few whispered words as they checked on the monitors and the the patient.

“My lord,” one of them spoke, obviously glad to bring good news. “We are planning on starting to bring her out of the induced coma within the next few days. We are confident that her condition has improved sufficiently. She’ll be strong enough to join us very soon”

Kylo Ren nodded and dismissed them with a curt word. He sat down a chair brought in by the other doctor, then reached down slowly and placed one gloved hand on the Captain’s forehead. Something viscous and dark rose to meet him, something so powerful it seemed to dim the lights and muffle all sound as it unwound from within the unconscious woman and lashed out with a strong intent to obliterate. With a hiss he quickly drew back his hand and broke the contact. 

“What have you done to yourself, Phasma?” He kept his voice quiet, as though he would accidentally wake her up otherwise. Right after the initial attack he had sensed something else. Guilt, and panic, a frantic scramble to find footing in the avalanche of emotion. Ren frowned and leaned back, folding his hands across his chest.

There was no power to be gained from that kind of darkness, it was self-destructing and uncontrollable. He had sensed it in her before from time to time, after Starkiller, but he had been too preoccupied with his own problems to pay any attention to her outside of pure professional sphere. Now, however, it was right there beneath the surface of her pale skin, impossible to ignore. 

It was a volatile mixture of conflict and fear and boundless wrath, whispering a promise of unimaginable violence, ready to erupt at any moment. It was something Ren recognized all too well - it was that precise brand of darkness that he had battled with all through his life. He knew he should try and make it dissipate, to help her recover faster, but right now he had neither the energy nor the willpower to challenge the darkness   
He loathed to admit it, but he could not be certain that he’d win that fight.

Not now, at least. Not so soon after his abrupt ascension to the complete command of the First Order and his subsequent, self-inflicted humiliation on Crait. So very soon after he’d offered everything to that girl, and she’d discarded him like he was a piece of trash. 

And oh so very very soon after he had, within a few horrible days, managed to shatter _everything_ that had ever mattered anything to him. Had shattered Hux.

What a fucking mess. 

He told the Captain as much.

“I really did it this time. Messed it up big time. Big big time. And I don’t know what to do.”

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and applied pressure until he saw stars. He should be out there, on the bridge, in the meeting rooms, leading the troops, giving orders and making his presence known. The Order needed firm leadership in the wake of the recent disasters and if he really wanted to replace Snoke he ought to take decisive action right now. The Order cultivated ruthless ambition and it logically followed that a power vacuum would be filled extremely quickly by anyone cunning and strong enough to massacre their way through the opposing forces. Instead of consolidating his status as the Supreme Leader, Ren had done just about everything in his power to oust himself from the throne before his reign had even begun.

There was no way out of this. He had to face Hux eventually, even if it was just to discuss work, and the thought filled him with unfamiliar anxiety.

Ren had been on his way to see the General, had walked right outside the door of his quarters but had stopped with his hand raised to knock. A roiling, suffocating nothingness hit him like a wall and he had turned on his heels and fled to see Phasma instead. The man felt hollow. The part of his mind which kept coming up with scenarios and plans even as he slept was replaced with a red-hot coil of _so stupid, should never have trusted, should have known better than to_ trust.

Ren sighed and willed things to return as they should be. Phasma healthy and whole, Hux by his side, his mind whirring away as it used to, and himself – well, himself sitting fast on the throne that was rightfully his, commanding fear and respect and bringing order to the chaos which was human existence. Stopping this stupid, fucking tailspin of uncertainty and insanity.

The thing was, that Rey’s presence was toxic. He felt like he lost his mind when they’d been connected through the Force, let alone when she was in the same room. She burned brightly, drew him to her flame and he could not resist the temptation to see how close he could get before the pain got too much. Or before he could find a way to temper the blaze and make her belong to him. It was pure madness, he knew that for certain. Being with her would only end in ruin. 

They were the polar opposites, her strength in Light easily matching his in Dark, and while one could not be without the other they would only consume each other if they ever tried anything more intimate than simply existing within the confines of a shared Galaxy. 

And yet… and yet, while he had meant it when he declared himself the Supreme Leader, that he was fully aware that this was his chosen path, where his home was, and that there was nothing for him to return to in the Republic, he had done too much and changed even more, that Ben Solo simply was no more, he also knew that if Rey was to appear right now and ask him to follow her, he probably would.

Hux was different. He was a volcano, all quiet and seemingly unmoving, but ready to lay waste to entire worlds at a moment’s notice. Never to be underestimated. Curiously that applied to him both professionally and in private, Hux the General and Hux the man were both just as full of hidden fire. Ren worried that he had managed to block some unseen fissure vent inside Hux, that there was a massive deposit of lava and sulphur ready to erupt and leave nothing but ashes and death in its wake.

Life had been easier when Snoke was there to tell him what to do and what to think. The lack of his presence in Ren’s mind felt like a missing tooth, he kept prodding the empty space knowing that nothing would grow back in there, he’d have to fill the void himself. He was also alarmed at how big the hole was, Snoke had occupied his mind more than he cared to admit. There were thoughts and memories he had thought were _him_ , were exclusively Kylo Ren, but now felt disconcertingly empty. 

Yet another complication to his already overwhelming situation.

“Phasma,” he whispered. “come back. Please.” The ventilator hissed, the monitors continued their work, occasionally emitting a soft beep. Somewhere in the medbay an emergency broke out, there was a sound of running feet and distant shouting. In the still silence of the room Ren adjusted her pillow and smoothed the small creases on her duvet. She flinched minutely at his touch, her brow furrowing and her heartrate spiking for a second. Her darkness coiled out, then retreated just as quickly.

Phasma had been the linchpin of their triumvirate. When the Dark Force would boil over and Ren would thrash and growl and rend, it was Phasma who would be there unmoving and unafraid, a steadying and grounding presence in the utter chaos of his madness. Whenever Hux’s plans would veer on the other side of megalomania and he neglected food and rest until he was ready to murder the first man to cross his path it was Phasma who had the courage to say the word and drag the man back to the realm of reason. Without her, and without Hux, Ren was lost.

It seemed that he was sentenced for life to endure the torment of continuous conflict. Light and dark, Rey and Hux, Snoke and Luke. They were all tearing him apart, all wanting him to be something that he wasn’t ready to be or didn’t want to be. He would have to decide on his own, finally take his life in his own hands and break free of the vicious cycle of never meeting the expectations of others.

Ren looked around the room, as if searching for a confirmation to his newfound resolve. A smile crept up on his face and he nodded at the blonde woman.

“Thank you,” he said, rising from the chair. “I appreciate your help.”


End file.
